“Ultimate Liberation”
Mark 16.1–8 The Rev. Hal Chorpenning, Plymouth Congregational UCC Fort Collins, Colorado Easter 2024 The Bible has macro-stories, broad brush strokes, that tie its core messages together. (Understanding of course that the Bible is essentially a library of the ways our ancient Jewish and early Christian forebears experienced the holy.) The Creation stories in Genesis shouldn’t be read as a geology or cosmology textbook to have meaning. Instead, we understand Genesis as speaking some essential truths that are more-than literal. While some civilizations in the ancient Near East had creation stories that placed humans in the role of being fodder for their deity, and while Greeks and Romans suffered at the whim and caprice of their gods, YHWH creates everything and declares that it is very good, providing all that the humans in the garden will need. Why would God provide for humanity, rather than reversing the roles and having humans exist in eternal servitude to God? Paul, a Pharisee and follower of Jesus, answered this way: “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.” God creates life in love, for love. That is one of the great macro stories of scripture. The God of Exodus is faithful to Moses and the people who are in captivity in Egypt, who suffer in bondage under the boot of Pharaoh, and God shows up as one who delivers people from grave injustice and oppression. That is one of the reasons that the narratives of Exodus are so critically important to the Black church in this country: our national history is replete with captivity, enslavement, injustice, and oppression. YHWH is no Egyptian god of the underworld! No! Our God is a force for freedom and deliverance. Liberation is another of the great macro stories that has a broad sweep across our sacred texts. Liberation says something essential about the character of God and humanity. And so, we find ourselves at the conclusion of Holy Week. We have waved palm fronds as Jesus enters Jerusalem. We have lived through to poignant Last Supper with Jesus, witnessed his arrest and torture, and ultimately his ignominious death on a cross. It is difficult for any of us to imagine the shame, the pain, the utter devastation of death on the cross. Where are the macro themes of love and liberation? Most of us would prefer to jump from the triumphal parade on Palm Sunday to the glory of Easter Sunday without having to reckon with the intervening tragedy. We probably don’t think too much about what happened on Saturday, between Friday’s crucifixion and Sunday’s resurrection. But that is not universally true. Martin Luther wrote a hymn to reflect that in-between time, “Christ lag in Todesbanden,” “Christ lay in the bonds of death.” Luther talks about a personification of the power of death, which attempts to keep us all imprisoned. Then he claims that Jesus breaks the bonds of death and that nothing remains but the faint outline of death, which has lost its sting. This may not be the Easter story you had in mind, and part of the reason for that is that most of us have been shaped by the western understanding of resurrection as Jesus being raised and leaving an empty tomb on Sunday morning. Yet that is not the way Eastern Christians have primarily understood the story. For them, the narrative is not just about an empty tomb, but rather breaking down the gates of the underworld and removing the power of death that keeps humanity fearful and unable to reach fullness of life as those who love like God loves. I included an image on the cover of your bulletin where you will see the eastern vision of Jesus overcoming the forces of death, which in Greek is called anástasis, the Greek word for resurrection. Jesus has one hand on Adam and one hand on Eve, pulling them up from the underworld through the broken gates of Hades. And they aren’t simply the first two humans, but rather they represent all of humanity. If you look below the broken gates, you’ll see fragmented locks and keys. And while you are studying the icon, hear how Luther’s hymn continues: “How fierce and dreadful was the strife when life and death contended; for death was swallowed up by life and all its power was ended.” It isn’t that Jesus put an end to our physical dying as human beings. We know that each of us will eventually succumb. While composing this sermon I visited one of our beloved members, who was actively dying as I wrote. And that experience drove home for me that our physical dying is real, but it isn’t the last word. So many Christians fixate on eternal life as being delivered safely to heaven after we die, and perhaps that’s the way it will be. I’m more or less agnostic about whether there is a place we go if we have lived virtuously and another place we go if we’ve been bound up in self-interest and self-deception. I am okay leaving what will be up to God. But, what if eternal life has already commenced for us? What if it’s up to us to live into our most profound and eternal selves that somehow continue even through the broken-open portal of death? We are given a choice in this life about where we will devote our effort, either supporting the forces of love and life or giving our energy to the forces of hate and death. None of us does it perfectly, but each of us can approach eternity with loving intention that echoes the way Jesus lived his life. What do you say about someone who dearly loves life and doesn’t want to die? What do you say about someone who is willing to face and endure a painful death in spite of loving life? What do you say about someone who is willing to lay down his life for his friends? It sounds to me like someone who says yes to life and love, but who is willing to confront death for the right reasons. Anyone who can do that has disempowered death. It’s not that physical death won’t happen, but perhaps as we say in the UCC, “Never put a period where God has placed a comma.” Maybe death is a comma and not a full-stop. Death won’t get the last word in the conversation of life and love. If you had to sum it up in one word what Jesus is doing in that anástasis image, what would it be? For me it is liberation! Liberation is breaking the bonds that hold us back from living and loving. Liberation is saying NO to the forces of death and YES to the divine power of life and love. Is it liberating for you to know that Jesus went through about the worst death before us and continues to be present within us and among us? Is it liberating for you to know that we are empowered to work for love and life and to know that God is with us? Is it liberating for you to know that there is nothing in this world or the next that can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus? You can shake off the shackles that have been holding you back from living life to its fullest. They have been unlocked! You can remove those handcuffs of fear that have chafed at your wrists every time you are ready to reach out and take a risk on being more loving. You are unbound! The most profound words I have ever heard about resurrection were spoken from this pulpit, not by me but by my mentor and friend Marcus Borg 12 years ago. “Jesus is loose in the world!” What does that say about the power of death? If Jesus can’t be held back even by death, what does it say about God’s great stories of liberation, love, and life? Jesus is loose in the world, and so are we! This is the good news! Thanks be to God! Christ is risen! Alleluia! Amen. © 2024 Hal Chorpenning, all rights reserved. Please contact hal@plymouthucc.org for permission to reprint, which will typically be granted for non-profit uses.
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“Love & Suffering”
I Corinthians 1.18-25 The Rev. Hal Chorpenning, Plymouth Congregational UCC Fort Collins, Colorado 10 March 2024 Buddhism holds four Noble Truths: the first is the inevitability of human suffering; the next three involve the cause of suffering, its end, and the true path to end it. Unlike our Buddhist sisters and brothers, suffering is something that many Protestants don’t talk about too often, perhaps because it is difficult. Our Catholic siblings are far more conversant with the topic, and some see suffering in itself as redemptive. Most Catholic churches feature a lot of images that illustrate the suffering of Jesus, including the crucifix: the cross with the corpus attached. Crucifixion is a horrific form of torture and execution that involves a painful and ignominious death and can be seen as human suffering at its worst. Imagine yourself as one of Jesus’ followers in the days, the years, the centuries after the crucifixion. How do you explain the suffering of Jesus on the cross? How do you make sense of what happened? Paul writes extensively about it, saying that in our baptism we die and rise with Christ, and he acknowledges that the cross is “scandalous to the Judeans and foolishness to the Gentiles.” There is something powerful there that Paul is trying to convey by reappropriating the cross, pairing it always with resurrection. Early Christian theologians continued to try to work out the “why” of Jesus’ death. Being a threat to the rule of empire and to Roman collaborators in Judea apparently was not reason enough for some. Tertullian, writing in the 3rd century espoused an idea that Jesus’ death happened in order for humanity to receive salvation by satisfying God’s need for an atoning sacrifice. (Dom Crossan once quipped that this is not the kind of god he’d like to meet in a dark alley.) And St. Anselm of Canterbury in the 11th century more clearly espoused the idea that “Christ’s death on the cross functioned as a gift to God on behalf of humanity to restore the order of justice subverted by sin.”[1] Where is the evidence that God would demand a sacrifice of his own son in order to restore relationship with humanity? What does this explanation do to describe a God who is merciful and loving? All of these theories are trying to work out a reason for suffering, in this case the suffering of Jesus on the cross. Perhaps the “why” is that the Empire was morally bankrupt and thrived by military domination and extracting wealth from those who could least afford it. But lots of revolutionaries have given their lives for a cause. Jesus was a different kind of radical, who in John’s gospel says, “No one has greater love than this than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”[2] The way of love can lead to suffering. Why all of the theological muddle over the millennia to try and explain that Jesus loved his friends and followers so much that he was willing to give his own life for them? His suffering is rooted in his willingness to engage in self-sacrifice, which itself is grounded in love. ---------- The truth is that all of us suffer. And we suffer in different ways at multiple points on our journey through life. In 1960, Dr. King wrote, “My personal trials have also taught me the value of unmerited suffering. As my sufferings mounted I soon realized that there were two ways that I could respond to my situation: either to react with bitterness or seek to transform the suffering into a creative force. I decided to follow the latter course. Recognizing the necessity for suffering I have tried to make of it a virtue. If only to save myself from bitterness, I have attempted to see my personal ordeals as an opportunity to transform myself and heal the people involved in the tragic situation which now obtains. I have lived these last few years with the conviction that unearned suffering is redemptive. “There are some who still find the cross a stumbling block, and others consider it foolishness, but I am more convinced than ever before that it is the power of God unto social and individual salvation.”[3] While Dr. King’s self-sacrifice and his suffering were grounded in love and justice (and Cornel West reminds us that justice is what love looks like in public), I don’t think that all suffering is redemptive. Physical suffering due to disease is not, in my view, redemptive. It is something that we can and should ameliorate. Karen Lebacqz, an ethicist and UCC minister writes, “The only redemptive suffering is that voluntarily undertaken in the cause of justice and the effort to combat disease. While the moral obligation to relieve suffering is not distinctively Christian, it is certainly central to Christian belief. Christians who, out of compassion, risk their lives by exposing themselves to contagion in an effort to heal others can be said to be modeling Christ’s compassion.”[4] But what are we to say about everyday suffering that comes with simply living? I invite you to think of an occasion when you yourself have suffered. (As long as it is not so acute or recent that it is retraumatizing.) It might be grieving the loss of a spouse, a child, a parent. It might be rejection by a loved one. Perhaps a professional setback. Or when the physician delivers an unwelcome diagnosis. Maybe when someone has betrayed you. It might be an unrealized dream that haunts you. The ghost of loss can get into us and cause suffering. What is that time or occasion for you? Many times when we suffer we feel alone in that anguish. Sometimes no one knows that you are suffering because you keep a stiff upper lip and keep on going. But inside, a piece of you feels as if you are dying. Each of us suffers in this way. Even when we feel alone, we are not. God is with us, we are not alone. Jesus tells us at such times to come with your heavy burdens and he will give you rest. Jesus himself underwent one of the worst forms of suffering imaginable, and in doing so, he had the full human experience of agony. “Come bring your burdens to God, Come bring your burdens to God, Come bring your burdens to God, for Jesus will never say no.” Not only is God there when you are suffering, so are your fellow Plymouth members. We form a family that supports one another, lifting up one another’s suffering and joy in prayer and in action. Paul writes in Galatians that we are to “bear one another’s burdens, and in this way, we will fulfill the law of Christ.”[5] What is the law of Christ? It’s love. We can’t get around suffering, because it is a part of life. But we can show up for one another with love, and that helps our kindred to get through the suffering. Sometimes that means a warm embrace or a comforting pot of soup or listening compassionately or a note of encouragement. Just showing up is something any one of us can do for another. Even if we don’t think we have the right words, simply showing up can provide the solidarity and love that helps alleviate a bit of someone’s suffering. I see people at Plymouth do this all the time! Our Congregational visitors drop in on some of our elders to say hello. Our Stephen Ministers have ongoing caring relationships with others in our congregation. And our Faith Community Nurses provide amazing, compassionate visits to those experiencing medical crises. I was with a family recently who have been going through a sequence of major medical issues — suffering — and they told me how helpful it was to have a faith community nurse guide them through the process and offer a prayer. The English word compassion has two Latin roots: cum + passio, which means to suffer with. When we share someone’s burden, we do share a bit of their suffering with love and empathy. That isn’t to say we should be doormats or lose our footing by overidentifying with another’s suffering. We may not be called to lay down our lives for those we love, but being present for another, acknowledging their anguish, letting them know they are loved and cared about can be a great help. Suffering is a real part of life. So is God’s presence. So is the love we share. May it be so. Amen. © 2024 Hal Chorpenning, all rights reserved. Please contact hal@plymouthucc.org for permission to reprint, which will typically be granted for non-profit uses. [1] Brandon R. Peterson in Angelicum, Vol. 93, No. 4 (2016), pp. 875-894. [2] John 15.13 [3] Martin Luther King, Jr., in Christian Century 77 (27 April 1960): 510. [4] Karen Lebacqz in Suffering and Bioethics, ed. by Ronald Green and Nathan Palpant (New York: Oxford, 2014). [5] Galatians 6.2 |
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